Aplos Riverside

Moladion’s powerful, winding river...
Aplos River is a broad, slow-moving river originating from somewhere beneath the mountains of Spirane and feeding Iromar’s moors in the south. The northern parts of the river are known for their strong currents, with the water becoming slow moving in the south. The riverbanks vary along its course, ranging from soft hummock grasses to small groups of pine, and sometimes nothing but pebbles and sand. Crossing can be difficult at times, but it can be swam or bridged by fallen trees or boulders alike.

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i never knew that everything was falling through
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Though Hickory is currently dreaming, his one good ear twitches every now and then to take in the sounds of the forest around him. The red and black wolf is curled up in a sweet smelling bed of fallen leaves, hidden in the shadow of the tree he’s leaned against. It is not an ideal place to sleep, but he’d not found anywhere better before night fell, and the young wolf is always an opportunist.

At first he’s not sure what has startled him; he only knows that he’s awake, his pupils wide and dark in his golden brown eyes. There’s no sound in the forest but the distant crunch of leaves (Hickory’s belly is full of a rather slow groundhog) and he’s nearly dozed off again when the sound of rapid wings rouses his fully. It sounds like the little round birds that Hickory had caught a few days ago, but whatever had startled them is far more worrisome.

He stands up, not bothering to shake off the leaves that cling to his fur, and peers curiously around the trunk of a tree. He can see a white wolf and smell a second one, though it remains out of eyesight. Always curious, red Hickory approaches the strangers, and before he’s reached the closer female, he’s able to tell that she doesn’t know the other wolf (a smaller male) either. Three strangers then, and Hickory’s black tail begins to wave. He steps closer, looking from one wolf to the other, and lets out a friendly whine. Despite the fact that she’s larger than he is, the white wolf seems young, and the scars on the muzzle of the male leave Hickory inclined to try his luck with the female. He’s no flawless specimen himself, but the other wolf looks like he lives a life far too dangerous for peaceful Hickory’s tastes.

“Hey,” he says, continuing to glance from one wolf to the other, his head low and his good ear pricked up curiously. “I’m Hickory. Do you guys live here?”


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